


Forever a Lost Boy

by aleclightwouldbangmagnus



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Background story, Drug Use, Gen, M/M, blasphemy talk, drug mention, hurts my heart, many feels involving a young Proko and K, slight - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:18:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7177112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleclightwouldbangmagnus/pseuds/aleclightwouldbangmagnus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Kavinsky was popping pills, he was running through the streets of New Jersey with his best friend, Viktor Prokopenko. Pills were just a mean of ignoring these memories, and many others. This is a glimpse into the past of a twisted boy. The M rating is for later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever a Lost Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Aye yo, this is my first fic (on Ao3 at least). I've had this idea in my head for a while. Inspired by f0x-meets-w0lf's headcanons and art of the Dream Pack. Sorry about any grammar or spelling, English isn't my native language.

Kavinsky forgets that he has memories. Nowadays, everything seemed a dream. Days were a never ending blur that he was trying to escape from yet live in. But on those days when he wakes up sober, the reality of everything is just _too_ _real_ , _too_ _raw_ for even his mind. But on those days, he lets himself go. He lets himself remember and then later uses what he remembers as an excuse to get fucked up, more than he already was, and forget. 

One of his earliest most clearest memories was with Proko. They were seven years old, running around the streets with their cap guns frightening off birds and harassing hobos. He remembered the sound of music playing from one of the townhouses, the slush of black and brown snow underneath them thawing at the approaching spring. They stayed outside until the sun was setting and their noses and cheeks were rosy from the evening chill. 

“Joey, let’s go inside,” Proko whined, “I’m getting cold!” 

“Let’s go to your house.” Kavinsky suggested. 

“But I don’t wanna go to my house, you’re house is cooler!” 

Kavinsky rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. “Alright. I’ll race you there!” He said and dashed off towards his house with a whining Proko hot on his heels. They arrived at the house puffing and chilled to the bone. 

“No fair you cheated! You tripped me!” Kavinsky said between gasps. 

“Well you had a head start!” Proko shot back. Regardless, they both entered the house, relieved by the heater. They quickly took off their coats and shoes and ran down to the kitchen were Kavinsky’s mom was at. 

“What have you two boys been up too?” She inquired while stirring some soup. 

“Nothing, just the usual. Being tough and stuff.” Kavinsky replied setting his fake toy gun on the small round kitchen table and taking a seat. He watched his mother's face pale at the sight of the toy gun on the table. 

“ Hello Ms. Kavinsky.” Proko said timidly behind her. She turned around and smiled at him ruffling his pale hair, coloring returning to her own cheeks. 

“ Hello to you as well Viktor.” She replied back. She quickly served them the soup and then after all was said and done, Kavinsky hopped off the chair and took Proko’s arm. 

“We’re gonna go upstairs.” He proclaimed and dragged Proko away from the kitchen and up the narrow stair case. They passed three small room and went up the last flight of stairs to the attic that had been transformed into a room for Kavinsky. They jumped onto his bed and glanced out the bay window into the deserted street. 

“Do you think your mom will let me stay over?” Proko asked. Kavinsky had his legs propped on Proko’s lap while he laid out on the bed with his head on his pillow and arms tucked under his head. 

“Maybe yes, maybe no. Depends on my Papa.” 

“I haven’t seen your Papa in months.” 

Kavinsky scoffed. “He’s here only at night. His job doesn’t allow him to stay home during the day or something like that.” Proko frowned. 

“Wad’ he do?” 

“Fuck should I know? He’s a grown up, he can do whatever he wants.” 

“My Mama says I shouldn’t say those words. Neither should you.” Kavinsky laughed at Proko. 

“Have you ever felt power?” Kavinsky asked, suddenly seriously. Proko shook his head no. “You wanna know the best way to feel power?” 

“Yes.” 

“Alright.” He took his legs off Proko’s lap and they both crossed their legs facing each other. “I want you to scream fuck really loudly.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s something you can’t do, right? I’ve found that one of the best ways to um, get power, er feel power, is to break a rule. So scream  _ fuck _ really loudly.” 

“Fuck?” 

“Fuck.” 

“Fuck.” 

“Fuck.” 

“FUCK?” 

“FUCK!” 

And so it went, until their voices grew louder and louder causing Proko’s face to flush in embarrassment and excitement. Regardless, Proko could feel it, that  _ power _ . As sudden as it began, it stopped. They were left panting from screaming and just looked at each other. They bursted out laughing until their sides hurt and tears escaped their eyes. In that moment Kavinsky had never felt so alive. 

“But seriously, it’s dark out. Do you think I can stay over?” Proko asked. 

“Sure, let me go ask Mama.” 

Kavinsky jumped off the bed stumbling over some of the bed sheet that had fallen off the bed and dashed down stairs. Proko listened to his feet and then his rude “HEY MA” two stories below him. He couldn’t make out their conversation, but soon enough Kavinksy was dashing up the stairs and jumped onto the bed. He folded his legs in front of him so that they sat facing each other once more. Proko started playing with hem of his shirt. 

“She said no. Not tonight.” Kavinsky said softly. Proko was still looking down, playing with the hem of his shirt. 

“It’s alright. Tomorrow is another day, another adventure, right?” 

“I guess so.” 

They sat in silence for a while until Proko got up and off the bed. 

“Where ya’ goin?” Kavinksy asked. 

“Home, remember? Can’t stay the night.” 

“Oh.” Kavinsky watched as his started to descend down the stairs so he followed silently behind. They finally made it to the first floor and Proko looked back at Ms. Kavinksy who was sitting with a cup of something in her hands at the kitchen table. 

“Goodbye Ms. Kavinsky, thank you for letting me stay over.” Proko said. She smiled at him. 

“ _ Dobroy nochi _ Viktor. Joseph, watch that he makes it safe to his home.” 

“Yes Mama I know this.” Kavinsky was already putting on his coat. Proko stood next to him hopping on one foot trying to put on his shoes. He slipped his coat on and then Kavinsky opened the door. The temperature had dropped significantly causing Kavinsky to shiver. Proko stepped out the door and started to walk down the stone steps. 

“Viktor?” Kavinsky called. Proko turned around to look at Kavinsky. 

“Yeah Joey?” 

“Um. Good night dude.” 

Proko smiled but the orange street light cast a shadow over his face making it look wicked. “Good night.” He turned around and started walking down the street, his shoes making a crunching noise on the snow that was left over. Kavinsky suddenly felt uneasy. 

The rest of the memory was a bit hazy for Kavinsky. He remembered seeing Proko approach his house at the end of the street and hesitate at the gate but continue into the house. He remembered going up to his room and his bed sheets still smelling like Proko. He remembered changing into his pajamas and looking at the glow-in-the-dark stickers him and Proko put up on his ceiling a few weeks back. He remembered staying awake until he heard the front door open and then slam shut with several male voices speaking at once, but he didn’t fail to hear his father’s deep but stern voice among the rest. He remembered his body shaking when he heard glass break and then his mom scream and then speak in such rapid Russian that he couldn’t keep up. He shut his eyes and started to hum a lullaby his mom used to sing to him when he was younger and was troubled with nightmares. He remembered getting out of bed and silently spying on his parents and at the strangers that were in the formal dining room. 

He remembered them sitting down at the very dining table where his family had only the best meals served during holidays like New Years, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. But instead of food on the tables there was guns, maps of some sort, and bags full of what appeared to be baking flour. Kavinsky scoffed at his own childhood innocence. 

He went back upstairs and as he was passing one of the room before going up to his room, he heard it. A steady knock on the window. He stopped and went to the room and saw a silhouette outside on the fire escape ladder. The knocking stopped and he saw the palm of a small hand against the glass. He rushed up and opened it revealing a shivering Proko. 

“Can I come in?” He asked. Kavinsky scrambled to help him through the window and into the room. His whole entire body was shivering and his teeth were clattering. 

“Did you run to my house in only your pjs?” Kavinsky asked. Proko quickly nodded his hand and glanced at the entrance to the stairs that lead to the attic. Kavinsky followed his point of view and quickly ushered Proko up the stairs and then under his covers. By then, the voices downstairs had grown to shouts again. 

“Ignore them. Now, what happened to you.” 

Proko curled up to a ball next to Kavinsky and didn’t say anything. 

“Proko please.” He pleaded. He shook Proko but he didn’t move. “Proko?” He watched Proko’s body started to shake, not because of the cold, but because he was crying, Kavinsky realized. He didn’t know what to do. He let Proko cry and rubbed circles on his back. Proko turned so that his back was facing Kavinsky. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. 

“For what?” 

“For crying on your pillow.” 

“S’okay. Wanna tell me what happened?” He shook his head no. “Please?” Proko took a deep breath and then turned around to face Kavinsky. Their heads were leveled exactly the same on the pillow, so close that Kavinsky could feel Proko’s breath and their noses were just inches apart. He scanned Proko’s face and that was when he noticed the bruise forming on the left side of his face. It showed the most near his jaw but stretched up to his cheek bone and there was no mistaken the shape: it was hand. Kavinsky swallowed the lump in his throat. 

“Did your Papa do that?” He whispered. 

“No, my Mama.” Kavinsky clenched his hands into fist but released them. He reached up and touched Proko’s cheek softly. 

“It doesn’t hurt much anymore, it only stings a lil’.” There was a loud crash and more shouting causing both boys to jump. Kavinsky sighed loudly and flung the blanket off him, climbing over Proko’s body so he could get off the bed. 

“Let’s make a fort.” He said and Proko quickly got off the bed too. They went around the room collecting pillows, blankets, strings, and clips. Once it was all said and done, they laid down on top of a rug with a blanket hung up above them like a canopy by the strings and clips. Spare pillows made a sound wall around them and because Kavinsky wanted to see the stars, their heads poked out from the canopy while the rest of their body stayed inside. They sat in silence, listening to the voices downstairs while gazing at the stars. Kavinsky felt a pressure on his hand and looked down noticing that Proko was holding his hand. There was a sniff and then Proko’s body started to shake with more tears. Kavinsky propped himself on one elbow and looked at his first and only friend. He whipped his tears away. 

“I don’t wanna go home.” Proko cried. He curled up at Kavinsky’s side once more but this time Kavinsky awkwardly scooped him up so that Proko’s head rested on the chest and neck and he simply held him. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. No matter what.” He murmured into his hair.

Proko sniffed loudly and held on to Kavinsky with a vicious grip. “You promise?” 

“I promise, with my life.” Kavinsky pushed Proko away slightly so that he could look at his face. “No matter what, I promise to protect you and I swear to you, one day I’ll be the most powerful person in the world and no one, I mean _ no one _ , will mess with me or you. I will be a King and rule this world because Kings are the most powerful people in the world.” 

“No they aren’t.” 

“They aren’t?” 

“One time, my Mama told me that the most powerful person in this world, and basically they whole entire Universe, is God.” Proko and Kavinsky sat in silence. 

“I think I’m a God already Proko. And if that’s the case, then no one can stop me and no one will ever hurt you again. If they do, I swear on everything, I  _ will _ kill them.” 

“How are you a God?” 

Kavinsky took his hand out of Proko’s and held out his pinky, “Pinky promise that one, I’ll protect you no matter what, and two, that you have to keep my secret. And you gotta stamp it.” Their pinkies met and then their then their thumbs to form the stamp. 

“Alright, how are you a God?” 

“You won’t believe me but,” Kavinsky leaned forward so he could whisper into Proko’s ear, “I can take things out my dreams.” 

Kavinsky closed his eyes for a second allowing himself to relive those moments with the Proko he grew to love. His first lover, his first everything. But that was a long time ago and things have change and promises get broken. He swung his legs off the bed and gazed at the messy room before starting rummaging through dirty clothes for some jeans. The door rattled and Proko stepped into the room. 

“Bout’ time you woke up, I thought you were dead.” He said. 

Kavinsky smiled sharp and sinister, “not dead yet. Now let’s go find the other fuckers, I wanna have a good time.” They walked out the room and down the hall to find the others. If anyone looked, they would’ve looked the same way as they were in their childhood. Kavinsky on the left, Proko to his right. Kavinsky, with a grin on his face and Proko, with a slight bounce to his walk. But Kavinsky knew that this illusion was far from the truth, and he also knew he needed something in his system before more promises were broken. 

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Anyway, I was thinking of making this the first of a collection of background stories/memories of Kavinsky and possibly other members of the dream pack! If I do, the rating is gonna go up.


End file.
